The Veil - Chapter 18

It was incredibly hot. Tugging at his collar, Obi slowed his pace to a casual saunter as they neared the caravan outpost. There were two large ones in town. The one close to the center of the city was for the wealthy to end their caravan while the one on the outskirts was for any trade goods and poor travelers. Regardless of the wealth of the customers, shady dealings went on in both. A business rooted in the exchange of goods and people across borders couldn’t afford not to be involved in illicit business. Depending on what a customer wanted, he knew where to go.

Trying not to fidget as his shirt stuck to his skin, Obi strode through a line of ragged men, women, and children, waiting with all of their belongings around them, into the sweltering air of the post on the outskirts of town. He saw Mr. Fughi’s posture change minutely as the butler went from passively observing to make sure he saw any funny business to on guard, sending out signals that he and his charge weren’t to be messed with.

A terrifying looking troupe was unloading, muttering low in a language Obi didn’t recognize. The scrawny camel glared at them as they passed, and Mr. Fughi nonchalantly moved to Obi’s other side, allowing his gaze to rest heavily on the men as they stopped unloading the bolts of silk.

Obi straightened his cuffs primly, his jaw clenching and relaxing as he tried to tell himself he wasn’t nervous at all, that he knew how to deal with this type of people, that he was smarter, better, and quicker than any of the men here. With a quick nod to Mr. Fughi that said “Everything is under control” he rapped on the desk of the secretary that was dozing off, his jowly face shining in the dusty light. “I’ll be introducing myself to Mr. Condrieve, good man. He was already opening the door by the time the secretary was blustering to his feet. Mr. Fughi turned and nodded to the red faced man as he shut the door.

Mr. Condrieve was tiny and much darker skinned than Obi. Glasses that magnified his eyes to strange proportions sat on the tip of his nose. He regarded Obi and the disruption he had created with a vague disdain, his eyebrows seeming to do all of the talking. While he wasn’t dressed as someone of the higher classes, his suit jacket worn and patched, his demeanor was that of someone used to the finer things in life. That made Obi nervous. It was easier to bribe people who needed money. “Do you have an appointment?” he asked carefully, laying down his fountain pen with precision.

“Not at all. I’m looking for certain connections that I can only find here.” While Obi looked down at him, he couldn’t shake the prickle of unease that was nagging at him. He threw a purse of coins on the desk. “I think I can make it easy enough to get to.”

Slowly reaching for the purse, Mr. Condrieve raised his eyebrows at the amount in there. “What kind of connections do you want, Mr…?”

“I need someone to do some work for me. He needs to be fast on his feet, slow to kill, and good with kids.” Obi decided against giving out his name.

The man laughed, and Obi made no effort to hide his lack of patience. “This is not a babysitting service.” When he smiled, Obi could see how rotten his teeth were. Definitely from the low classes then. He wondered where Mr. Condrieve had polished his accent.

Obi’s temper strained to be free, and his control, frayed by the multiple stressors of the day, was struggling to hold it. “I need a kidnapper, Mr. Condrieve. Believe me when I say I would go elsewhere for a nanny service.”

Rifling through the coins, his eyes widening as he realized the amount, Mr. Condrieve glanced up. “What kind of defenses are we talking about?”

“I don’t feel comfortable sharing that information with you,” he replied stiffly.

Mr. Condrieve wrinkled his nose. “How do I know what kind of people to set you up with if I don’t know the details?”

With a shock and a large helping of self-condemnation, Obi realized that there was no honor among thieves. This man knew how to get money and how to get even more. He would not be making it easy on Obi because Obi waved an absurd amount of gold below his nose. As soon as Obi told him a few of the specifics, this man would use him in whatever way made the most gold. His mind screamed at him to get out now, and he glanced at Mr. Fughi who was tense beside him. He had never used these particular facilities before, going to the caravan outpost in the center of town for the few times he’d had illegal needs to be met which had always been goods, not services. It was obvious things didn’t work the same way. He’d made a young man’s mistake in his rush to find help.

“Mr. Fughi, I believe it’s time to take our leave.” Obi considered attempting to retrieve the purse but decided against it. The struggle would have been too much, and he just wanted to flee now. He turned on his heel which was never a good move in the presence of scum, but Obi was determined not to look cowed.

He had left the room and was several paces in front of the door when he realized his butler was not with him. He glanced back, aware that there were too many people here to watch him stand by the door like some kind of dog waiting for his master. He was attempting to decide whether to continue walking or to go back in to retrieve Mr. Fughi when the matter was made null by Mr. Fughi striding through the door, purse in hand.

They walked through the outpost, Mr. Fughi glaring at anyone who even dared to glance at them.

“You could be a bit more subtle if you wished, Mr. Fughi,” Obi muttered through tight lips as they left the stinking building altogether.

Holding the purse out to Obi, Mr. Fughi muttered, “Perhaps money doesn’t mean that much to you, Mr. Eshe, but I could not let that man take this much just because he had been an ass. You train dogs to do you bidding, and you punish them for incorrect behavior.”

Obi took the purse, saying nothing in return. He wasn’t sure there was anything to say because Mr. Fughi was right, and Obi shouldn’t have run like a frightened child. He grunted in frustration. He wanted to shout. Why had he left without a fight? Ihyana needed him, and he had just walked away from the one good chance he had at getting her out.

Where else could he go?

They were in the shadows of the slums when Mr. Fughi murmured, his lips still, “Mr. Eshe, we have a tail.”